


Names and Dreams

by Nui (Nuiihren)



Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [14]
Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Slice of Life, being Ireena is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuiihren/pseuds/Nui
Summary: Just a slice of life about Ireena's years in the village of Barovia and the dreams that haunt her.Written for the birthday of our wonderful DM <3
Series: Curse of Strahd Shorts Collection [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031067
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Names and Dreams

Strange, uneasy dreams disturb her often as a child. When she first arrives in her new home, at her new family’s house, they are all she has in that place where other people keep their memories. Figures moving in the mists, faces appearing and falling apart before she can put a name to them. Tall beautiful buildings of stone, towers rising towards the blue sky. Things that don’t exist in Barovia - or maybe anywhere at all. She thinks they are important, that once she grows up, she’ll find out the truth behind them. But when she tells her father, he frowns. Those things are better left forgotten, he thinks.

“Your home is here now,” his voice is grave, “you’ll make new memories with us, and it will be for the better. Some people go mad with dreams like yours and wander into the mists. Nothing good can come of that, you understand, Ireena?”

 _Ireena._ At that moment the name still doesn’t sound like her own. Sometimes, in dreams, people address her differently. In a way that feels just right, that makes her feel like herself. But seeing deep lines form on her father’s brow each time she mentions those visions, noticing how her brother goes from prodding her with curious questions to changing the topic whenever dreams come up, she stops mentioning them. And after a while… the first few months - maybe half a year - they fade, her new reality shifting into place.

 _Ireena._ The name sounds like safety and home. Like her brother’s laughter and her father’s calm. Like normalcy of never-changing days and a life where she knows everything there is to know: 

That no matter where you are around the village, if you run fast, you can make it home before the bells stop ringing at sundown. That the last two steps of the staircase in her house are especially squeaky, so when you sneak out, you have to jump over them. That you don’t go into the mists at night or far into the woods - at all. That the old willow at the river has a perfect hollow for hiding things. That when you see bats, you have to recite a small rhyme and a prayer to the Morninglord, so they leave you alone. That there’s a shortcut through Bildrat’s backyard if you are late for supper. That you never invite strangers into your home and that you never trust a Vistani. That once a moon one of the Martikovs comes into the village delivering wine and, if you sneak into the tavern that evening, you can hear all kinds of gossip from Vallaki and sometimes even from Krezk. That you never look too long at the Devil’s castle looming up high like a dark misshapen bird. That old Maya has been cheating on her husband with Olaf, everyone knows. And that when outsiders come out of the mists, passing by the village with mad tales and eyes full of fear, you keep away from them, because trouble is all they are. 

That last thing she doubts the most growing up, but it proves to be true when the mage comes in, calling for the villagers to rise up. She sees them leave, with few returning. Some worse than dead, like Doru. And mere weeks later, those dreams of her childhood emerge from the depths, lured by the normalcy of life disturbed.

_She walks out of her home, the streets and people before her familiar. A different village, not the one where Ireena spends her life. A different house. She looks around, voices whisper in malice, eyes watch her in distrust. A man appears in the distance. She steps towards him, but never reaches…_

_She dances in a ballroom. She rushes through wide stone halls with huge windows so beautiful, then it’s another place and another again. She rides on horseback, hair pulled together in a tight knot on the back of her head. A castle appears in the distance._

_“Do you like it?” someone says._

_She spurs her horse and rides faster and faster, galloping through the woods, fleeing, then through halls with wide doors, then through the house of her father. Ismark stands in the yard, Doru before him. They look so different, but their jaws are set in the same stubborn way._

_“You can’t go,” Ireena pleads, grabbing her brother by the arm, “don’t be so stupid! You can’t trust that mage, he doesn’t care about any of us.”_

_“It’s our chance!” Doru says, while his eyes burn with fervor. “We can free ourselves, that’s what we dreamed of!”_

_Then he falls to his knees, skin so pale, mouth gaping impossibly large as saliva drips from his fangs. Face twists with madness._

_Is that what we dreamed of? Ireena wonders._

_“Stay, I’m begging you,” Father tells Ismark who doesn’t seem to see any of it. His voice cracks with fear and uncertainty that Ireena has never seen in him before, “there’s dignity in perseverance. There’s wisdom in not picking fights you can’t win. Once you go, I can’t protect you.”_

_“I never took you for a coward,” Ismark spits and walks out, slamming the door behind him. But Ireena sees how his shoulders drop in defeat. He won’t go._

_Doru looks at her in disappointment. Just a skinny boy with dirty blond hair. He kissed her once, timidly, when they were fifteen, and asked her if she liked him. Or was that a different boy? No, there’s no one else beside him in the village. He steps closer, changing._

_“Come with me to the castle,” he says in a low soft voice. Mists drip from his cloak._

_She shakes her head. “I won’t.”_

_He rages against her calm._

_She comes to herself in an empty house, someone knocking on the door. Downstairs, the air is cold and damp. Heavy. The knock reaches her again, not particularly loud, but intent. A man stands at the doorstep, looking at her… through her… past her… with unearned familiarity and recognition that makes her feel like an intruder in her own body._

_“May I come in?” he asks and, without waiting for an answer, steps over the threshold._

This part is not a dream. But that, she realises only later.


End file.
